


Oracle Legends: The Rift War

by JedWasHere



Series: Oracle Legends [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Fiction, Original Science Fantasy, Original Science Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JedWasHere/pseuds/JedWasHere
Summary: It is the year 3731 of the Second Solarin Age. The Solarin Empire stretches across much of known space, threatened only by the might of the Ghaoraag Sovereignty.Now, however, a new threat arises – a madman seeks the power of the gods, a power that threatens the entire Empire, and perhaps the entire galaxy.One untried ship, manned by an untested crew, is all that stands in the way of this madman and the annihilation of everything they hold dear…





	1. Prologue: Everything Is Written

Prologue

Everything is Written

***

_Everything is already written, already decided, and yet nothing is._

_Everything is beginning, everything is happening now, and everything is over._

_They do not see. How could they possibly? Their blindness is part of who and what they are, just as much as your Sight is now part of who and what you have become. And you do not – and cannot – resent their blindness._

_You cannot resent anything, anymore._

_They know that you can See. Some of them are terrified of that fact, and you cannot resent them for this, either. Fear is a basic emotion, after all, and one that is often most the companion of ignorance._

_Some of them, however, are wiser than their fellows are, and they know that your Sight can serve them, serve their interests. They ask you to See for them, and so you do. As always, what you See, you Speak._

_And, as always, what you Speak, they hear._

_Everything is already written, already decided, yet nothing is. But even in the eternal purgatory between that which is, is not, and never will be, there are things which are certain. That they will act on what they hear is and was inevitable, from the moment you began speaking. That they will trigger the events that you have Seen is also inevitable: it is why they came._

_The cycle is eternal. What is, was, what was, will be, what will be, is: it is all one thing, unified in its absolute relativity, and all of it…_

_… all of it is already long over._

***

**Traffic Control Headquarters, Capita City, Planet Clarice: Year 3731 of the Second Solarin Age.**

Planet Clarice. Nobody knew why someone in the Solarin Empire’s registry offices had named a planet ‘Clarice’, though running bets in the mess hall mainly revolved around it either being somebody’s pet or somebody’s mother, but regardless, it was a nice name for a nice little globe.

Peaceful green fields along most of the northern continent, interspersed with a few mountain ranges and stunning vistas, making it a veritable paradise among the stars. The more inhospitable regions were easy to avoid, the wildlife relatively tame, and the weather almost never went into extremes. Even better, it was suitably situated to avoid most of the hustle and bustle of the main Imperial trade routes, without losing vital business.

In short: just the sort of place that a man could find himself retiring to with relative luxury. That, at least, is how Commander Cassius Archer of the Imperial Navy thought of the place.

Sat in his command chair in the Traffic Control Centre, Archer scratched his chin, absently checking his armrest display for any new information. He had the build of a once reasonably fit man gone to seed: his posture was slouched, his wrinkled, saggy face covered in permanent five o’clock shadow, and his greying hair line was so far back and so thin that it was more of a hair wisp. He was wearing a naval utility uniform, consisting of a simple grey short-sleeved shirt and black cargo trousers, the colonial division symbol printed on his shirt’s chest and epaulettes, but where other men could make even this simple uniform look regal, Archer made it look sloppy.

Luckily for him, his job at the Centre (unlike some of the stuff he’d done earlier in his career) was relatively simple.

“This is Traffic Control,” one of his staff said from her station: one of about ten identical stations that lined the walls of the Control Centre. “Please identify ship and destination.” She paused, then smiled. “Roger that, Vydallia Seven Seven Two, you are cleared for dock six. Have a pleasant stay on Clarice.”

The officer input a command on her console, and a moment later the details of her exchange appeared on Cassius’ armrest console, more so that he was informed than because he was required to take any action about them. That was how it was with almost every exchange that happened in this command room. Every so often, of course, he’d need to pay more attention. Sometimes, for example, a technician would ask for his help, or occasionally his panel would pop up with something that needed his personal sign-off to go through (usually extremely restricted substances or cargo: Clarice didn’t see too much of that).

But these situations were rare enough and easy enough to deal with that he didn’t feel the need to worry about it. This suited him just fine, since he’d taken this post to avoid worrying about things – he’d managed to spend an entire naval career avoiding the dangerous jobs, a fact he was very thankful for.

“Sir?” one of the other technicians, an Ensign in a black and grey colonial division jumpsuit, said. He brought up a display on his monitor. “We’ve got an incoming ship at the edge of the system.”

Cassius rolled his eyes. “Of course we do, Ensign: we’re a _trading colony_.”

“Yes, sir,” the technician said nervously. “It’s just that -”

“You’ve done basic training on this setup, haven’t you?” Cassius cut the man off. _Is he new or something?_

“Uh, yes, sir,” the man said, “but -”

“But _nothing_.” Cassius sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Run standard procedure, get her ident and -”

“Sir, the ship is not coming in at standard speed,” the technician interrupted him, now sounding almost irritated. “It’s approaching at maximum sub-drive velocity.”

_Maximum sub-drive? Skekking Soleil,_ Cassius thought, pushing himself to his feet and wandering over to the techy. _Quiet morning. That’s all I wanted. A skekking quiet morning._

“Fine,” he said, his tone sullen. “Show me the ship’s approach vector.”

“Aye, sir,” the techy said. He tapped a command, and a graphic of the unidentified vessel’s approach vector to Clarice popped up on his screen. Cassius scrutinised it for a moment.

“That’s definitely an approach on the planet, sir,” the Ensign commented.

Cassius scowled. “Thank you, Ensign, I can see that.” _Honestly, who is this pretentious little shit anyway?_ “Any comm?”

“No, sir,” the Ensign said.

Cassius rolled his eyes and pressed a control on the techy’s console.

“This is Commander Archer of Clarice Traffic Control to the unidentified vessel entering the Clarice system,” he said, putting on his best ‘authoritative’ voice. “Please transmit registry number and destination, _immediately_.”

“I already tried contacting them, sir,” the Ensign said apologetically. “They’re not responding.”

Cassius frowned, looking at the console. Sure enough, the unidentified vessel wasn’t replying. He tapped another command, but was surprised to see that there were no scans.

_But that’s not right,_ Cassius thought. The outer system satellites normally scanned inbound ships, but they hadn’t transmitted any telemetry concerning this newcomer. He checked their output, only to find there _wasn’t_ any.

His frown deepened. “Check your console, Ensign… uh…”

“Newbold, sir,” the Ensign said.

“Right, Newbold,” Cassius said. “Check it.”

The Ensign nodded and entered another command. A few moments later, a green light popped up, indicating no issues.

“Looks to be on the level, Commander,” Newbold said needlessly.

_So not a malfunction from our end,_ Cassius thought, stroking his chin. Definitely unusual, but nothing to panic about, he reassured himself.

“Contact the _Noble Heart_ ,” he ordered, turning away from the console. “Have them investigate the newcomer. Warn them that we don’t know what to expect.”

“Aye, sir,” Newbold replied, nodding. He tapped a quick command into his console. “This is Clarice Traffic Control, calling _SES Noble Heart_ …”

Cassius returned to his chair and zoned out of the conversation, instead bringing up his console. He frowned slightly at the lack of new input, and a brief glance around showed that the entirety of his staff – apart from Newbold, who was talking to the Noble Heart – were staring at their consoles, all of them apparently bemused at the sudden lack of incoming traffic.

_This is not good,_ he thought, his mind whirring with possibilities. Surely, though, whatever was going on, the _Noble Heart_ could deal with it.

“ _Noble Heart_ reports contact with unknown ship, sir,” Newbold said after a moment.

“Very good,” Cassius said, nodding. “Keep me informed, Mr Newbold.”

A minute passed. Then two. The silence reigned.

“Well?” Cassius asked.

“Nothing from the _Noble Heart,_ sir,” Newbold replied.

Cassius let a whistle of air out through his lips. “The other ship?”

Newbold checked his console, pausing as he examined the readout, before looking back at Cassius. “It’s, uh, still on course.” He paused, his expression now more than a little concerned. “There’s… no sign of the _Heart_ at all.”

Cassius’ eyes widened. “What? Where is she?”

“Not on scope, sir,” Newbold replied quietly.

Cassius felt the blood drain from his face, and he saw other technicians and staff exchanging glances. They all knew what it means: if there was no sign of the _Heart_ , then…

“Contact planetary defence grid,” he said at once, standing up.

At once, technicians and officers began scrambling, inputting commands. An ominous red light bathed the room as battle alerts were sounded, and he heard a host of messages being sent out.

_“Defence teams one through five, scrambling.”_

_“Particle turrets charging and ready.”_

_“Mag-cannons standing by.”_

_“Ground defence teams are primed and readied. Argo and Boreas teams, on standby.”_

_This is insane,_ Cassius thought, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the armrest of his chair. _Why would anyone come here? Why now? Why here?!_

“What do we have on-planet at the moment?” Cassius asked, more out of fear than anything practical.

Another officer brought up a tactical display. “Fifth Colonial has three divisions on planet, already scrambling. And we have PA teams Argo and Boreas standing by.”

“Right, three divisions,” Cassius said, nodding. “And the PA teams. Good.”

_This isn’t happening,_ he thought desperately. _It can’t be an attack. Sensors must be off. It’s a technical fault. It has to be._

“Sir,” Newbold suddenly said, “we’re picking up multiple smaller signals originating from the unknown ship!”

“Landing pods?” Cassius asked.

“No, sir!” Newbold said, eyes widening in horror. “They look like -”

There was a sudden flash of light, a roar of sound, and then Cassius blacked out.

***

There was a sound that might have been a siren blaring, somewhere. Cassius groaned as he pushed himself up onto his feet. The Traffic Control Center was a wreck: the wall had been blown open, exposing a sky that had been turned orange and was filled with smoke.

Grimacing, he looked around, trying to find survivors in his command centre, but there was nothing but bodies. He scowled at the crushed body of Newbold, the man’s sightless eyes staring back at him with a shocked expression.

Wincing with pain, he limped to the ragged hole in the wall, and stared out across Capita City. Sure enough, the great metropolis was burning: skyscrapers were shattered, groundcars had been smashed and shot up, and there were faint dots that he just knew were the bodies of civilians caught in this skekshow.

There was screaming in the distance: no doubt, this was not the only combat zone. As he watched, he could kinetic tracer fire and mag rounds zipping across the streets. He could also see figures moving about, taking shots at each other across the battleground. Some were human – he recognised Colonial Infantry battle-armour when he saw it – and some of them looked to be tall armoured figures. He frowned, but from this distance he couldn’t recognise them.

_Skek,_ Cassius thought faintly, his eyes drifting up to the sky. _What in the hells is even…_

His eyes widened, his train of thought not just stopping but straight-up crashing and burning.

The sky wasn’t just orange, and it wasn’t just stained with fire and smoke.

It was being _twisted_.

He could see a swirling vortex forming, the clouds within it darkened and broiling like churning water mixed with oil, a thin pillar of light in the centre that stretched from somewhere beyond the event horizon of the vortex to somewhere on Clarice’s surface. He stepped back from the edge, feeling suddenly, inexplicably terrified.

_Is… is that a new weapon?_ he wondered. _Is that…?_

He stopped thinking about it. Worrying about what it was became the last thing on his mind. He just knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had to get away from it. Some part of his animal brain was telling him to run, and he didn’t feel like disagreeing with it.

He stumbled away from the ragged hole and headed for the emergency lift. He pressed the button, but there was no response, and he cursed inwardly. He should have expected as much. He made for the emergency exit stairwell, but the doorway was blocked by rubble.

_Alright, alright,_ he thought, trying desperately not to panic. _Just… just… stay put. Stay put. Attacks like this… it’ll be over soon. Just a raid or something. Command’ll send a ship, they have to._

Huddling in a foetal position under one of the ruined consoles, Cassius prayed that whatever was going on, this attack would be over soon.

***

**Glossary**

Skek: expletive.

Soleil: Chief deity of the Solarin Empire.

 

 


	2. One: Call Out The Billy Ruffian

One

CallOutTheBillyRuffian

***

**Space Station Solarin One One Six, Solin 12th, 3731 of the Second Solarin Age. 0530 hours.**

Captain Uriel Locke made a small groaning sound as he cracked his neck, stifling a yawn as he did so. It wasn’t exactly _ridiculously_ early for a meeting with the Admiralty, but at the same time, it _was_ early, and he’d not been sleeping as well as he would have liked.

At fifty three Imperial years old, Locke was perhaps a little past his prime: unlike many of his more ‘cultured’ colleagues, he’d not gone in for rejuvenative gene-surgeries or cosmetics, and so he wore his care lines, scars and other marks of age on his face with pride, along with the few grey strands that intruded on his neat black hair. He was satisfied that, even if he looked his age, his body – lean and powerful – still did what he needed it to.

_And then some, heh._

He glanced at his reflection in one of the shiny black panels along the corridor, and frowned briefly at it. He wore his gold-decorated grey uniform peacoat open, his black undershirt perhaps a little scruffier than was appropriate for a meeting with Admirals. His normally polished black boots were scuffed. Not that it should have really mattered: this was a high-priority meeting. If he had to guess, there was some sort of situation brewing ( _Isn’t there always?_ part of him couldn’t help but think), and if they were looking at his boots to comment, it wouldn’t have been so serious as to warrant him being here in the first place.

He and his ship, the _SES Bellerophon_ , had been called in to Solarin One One Six two nights ago after a string of routine patrol runs (which had, frankly, been the most boring milk runs that Locke remembered ever having been on, in _any_ capacity, and that was saying something). The orders had been cryptic and even his acting XO, Lieutenant Quince, had commented on how strange such a hush-hush meeting was.

 _Still,_ he thought as he reached the briefing room, _I’ll have all the answers I could want soon enough._

There was a security guard standing outside the door: an Imperial Marine, dressed in scarlet and black fatigues.

“Sir,” he said as Uriel approached. His accent was definitely inner worlds: the flat vowels, the broad tones. “The Admirals are already inside waiting for you.”

Uriel nodded. “Thank you.”

The Marine’s expression twitched ever so slightly at Uriel’s outer-colony drawl, but Uriel ignored it. He tapped the door control and it slid open with a soft ‘ _shunk’_ sound, and he entered.

The briefing room was typically sedate: grey walls, grey panels, a few display panels and consoles, and three Admirals sat in a row. One was a Vyde, wearing the midnight blue jacket of the Colonial fleet, a scowl on his furred face. The other two wore the main fleet’s scarlet; one was a human female a little older than Uriel, and the last was a younger man with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Captain,” this man said. “Come in. Take a seat.”

Uriel did so, frowning slightly. “Thank you, Admiral.” He looked to the Vyde. “Admiral Jayle.” His eyes turned to the human woman. “Admiral Laughlin.”

“Uriel,” Laughlin greeted with a small smile. “I don’t think you’ve met Admiral Rattigan, have you?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, no,” Uriel replied, looking at the youngest Admiral. “Good to meet you, sir.”

“Same, Captain Locke,” Rattigan said easily. His voice was a tad nasally, Uriel noticed, almost distractingly so. “Wish it were under better circumstances, but we’ve got a problem.”

“Figured as much, sir,” Uriel said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “How about you fill me in?”

Laughlin looked at Jayle, who coughed, before standing up and approaching one of the wall-mounted control panels. He inputted a command, and a graphic popped up, showing the entirety of Solarin Empire Space. Their own position at One One Six was marked, on the border of the mid-rim of the Empire. Uriel frowned as Jayle pressed a control, and a green swathe of stars appeared near the far rim of the Empire’s territory.

“The Ghoaraag have been pushing at the borders with increased fervour,” Jayle said, his voice a rumbling growl tinged with the lilting Vydallian accent. “The Colonial Fleets have had a hard time holding them off.”

“I’ve kept up-to-date with the situation,” Uriel said slowly. “We’re committed across multiple skirmishes, right?”

“Right,” Jayle said, “but that’s not why you’re here.”

“The planet Clarice has gone dark,” Laughlin put in, and Clarice’s location popped up on the display. “We’d normally suspect Ghaoraag involvement, but it’s _Clarice_ -”

“Which is well within the central systems of the Empire,” Uriel finished, nodding. “Yeah, I’m starting to see the problem there. What happened? How’d they get so far past our defences?”

“We’re only _presuming_ that it’s the Ghaoraag,” Rattigan said quietly, his expression grim. “We’re not yet entirely certain. It could be Insurrectionism, or possibly something unknown that we’re not aware of.”

“No word from the planet?” Uriel asked.

“None,” Laughlin said. “The last data packets showed that there was some sort of ship approaching, but then we lost contact.”

Uriel nodded slowly. “So, you need _me_ to go find out what’s going on, exactly.”

“Correct,” Laughlin said, nodding. “We’re despatching the _Bellerophon_ to go see just what the hell is happening out there.”

“Is there any intel I need to be aware of?” Uriel asked, running over what he already knew about Clarice. _Boring little colonial world, not really strategic, decent as a trading outpost, supposedly good for fishing holidays…_

“Nothing we haven’t already mentioned,” Rattigan said quietly.

“We need to know what’s happened, why the colony went dark and if the Ghaoraag are the ones behind it,” Jayle said grimly.

“And we need you to survive long enough to get that intel back to us,” Laughlin added, her expression serious. “We expect a quick in-and-out mission, no heroics, no stupid risks.”

Uriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _No stupid risks. What does she think I am, an idiot?_

“Another thing, Uriel,” Laughlin added, folding her hands in front of her. “We understand that you’ve been running with an understaffed crew?”

Uriel waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing that should prevent my team from operating effectively.”

“You’re down an XO and a Marine team leader, along with being down twenty on your full complement,” Jayle said incredulously. “How do you think you’ll ‘operate effectively’ without either of those positions?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Uriel said, trying not to sound irritated, “you made this mission sound urgent. I don’t have time to go through two hundred applicants a post just to get a person in that someone on my existing crew can fill.”

“We can’t afford half-assing on this, Uriel,” Laughlin countered. “You _need_ a complete team.”

Uriel bristled at the Admiral’s comment. “No one on my team ‘half-asses’ anything, _ma’am_.”

He knew Laughlin wouldn’t miss the not-so-subtle point of him using that particular form of address, and he was rewarded by the stung expression on her face.

“We’ve taken the liberty of preparing a group of officers that should fill your team’s gaps,” Rattigan said smoothly, covering the brief silence. He gave Uriel a smile the Captain couldn’t help but think of as smug. “They’re all on station, awaiting their next assignments.”

Uriel frowned. “I _prefer_ selecting my own crew.”

“We’ve picked more than one officer for each post, Uriel, and before you ask, they’re _all_ highly qualified, I promise,” Laughlin put in.

“You’ve got twenty four hours to pick your officers, and then you’ll need to go,” Jayle said grimly. “Even with the _Bellerophon’s_  Underspace engine, it’ll be touch and go whether you get to Clarice in time.”

Uriel resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he stood up. “I’ll make my pick in the next ten hours. If there’s nothing else, Admirals?”

Both Jayle and Rattigan shook their heads.

“Uriel,” Laughlin put in, leaning forward. “This is a _major_ issue for the Empire. We can’t afford to look weak to the Ghaoraag – our best estimates indicate that any major conflict with them would be devastating for the Empire. It might even fracture our territory in two.”

“Don’t worry, Jayne,” Uriel said, nodding. “One thing I’d _never_ do is make myself look weak in front of the shellheads.” He winked. “Trust me.”

Laughlin frowned, but said nothing. After a moment, Jayle cleared his throat.

“Dismissed, Captain,” he said. “Good luck.”

Uriel inclined his head and walked out of the briefing room, his mind already racing. Having to pick a new XO and a new head of his ship’s Marine Corp?

He had a _lot_ to think about.

***

The cabins on _Valiant-_ class ships were somewhat larger than most, a fact that Uriel considered a plus side to serving on a class of ship that was otherwise relatively new (and therefore, to his occasional irritation, untested and buggy as skek). His personal cabin was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide, situated on Deck C, two decks below the bridge: perfect for getting to the action in a hurry. Better yet, he had been allowed to move a few of his own personal items in: a veer-leather sofa from Caliburn, a few pictures from his days in the Imperial Academy on Gallad…

He sighed, sitting himself on his sofa.

“VPA, on,” he said wearily.

 _“Virtual Personal Assistant Model Three-Three-Seven, online,”_ a prim voice said after a moment. _“How may I be of assistance, Captain Uriel Locke?”_

Uriel rolled his eyes. Virtual PAs were the epitome of what people called ‘dumb AI’. Uriel remembered his previous XO, Jan Howser, talking him through the difference between ‘dumb’ interactive computers and actual AI (a technology that she had gone on about at length despite it only being in the theoretical stages). He’d never taken in most of her lectures about technology.

Now, of course, he’d never get the chance. His expression softened for a moment, and then he sighed.

“I’ve been forwarded a list of files concerning potential Marine Corp team leaders and executive officers,” he said to the VPA. “I want you to summarise the lists and give me some important facts.”

 _“Specify: ‘important’,”_ the VPA asked politely.

Uriel clicked his tongue. “Basic history, service record, notable commendations…”

 _“Confirmed,”_ the VPA said. _“Which list would you like to begin with?”_

Uriel paused, considering, before speaking. “Pull up the recommendations for Corp team leader. Might as well see who we’re gonna throw up against the shellheads in person.”

 _“Working,”_ the VPA said. A moment later it spoke again. _“Lieutenant Erin Hall, Marine Corp, frontline specialist. Born planet Iris, 3704.”_

The image of a young-looking woman popped up, with short red hair and a crooked smile on her face. In the file image, she wore a battered set of Imperator armour, and had an assault rifle slung over her shoulder. Uriel frowned.

“What’s her record like?” he asked.

 _“Lieutenant Hall was present during the Gallad Insurrection, and personally took down several of the Insurrection’s leaders,”_ the VPA said. _“Her combat record is considered impressive by most commentators.”_

Uriel nodded. There was, indeed, a certain logic to selecting an officer like that for a mission like this: someone who’d been up against Insurrectionists and stayed in the Corp afterwards was bound to be a _real_ loyalist. Just the sort of person Uriel liked having around.

“So,” he said. “Other options?”

 _“Clarify request,”_ the VPA said blandly.

Uriel rolled his eyes. “Save Lieutenant Hall’s file for later perusal. Go to next candidate on the list.”

A different image popped up: this one of a paler woman with a cropped head of hair, raven-black save for a single strip of blonde hair down the middle. She was standing to attention amongst a number of her colleagues, all in Imperial Marine dress blacks.

 _“Sergeant Major Syriac Fuller, scout specialist, enlisted on planet Garvyne,”_ the VPA said coolly. _“Part of ground ops on planet Hansel before the withdrawal. Noted for bravery in the field. Some psychological issues on file.”_

“Hansel…” Uriel repeated, leaning forward, a thoughtful frown on his face.

The battle for Hansel had been one hell of a skekshow, no mistake: any soldier who’d held the line there had to be one of the best the Imperial Army had. Still: there could also be downsides to having someone who’d been through that sort of experience as the head of the Corp. Especially with a note about ‘psychological issues’.

“Save Fuller’s file,” Uriel said. “Next.”

The VPA ran through a few candidates that Uriel didn’t rate much - mostly young officers with decent track records but nothing that stood out. Then, after a moment, another image popped up. This one was a dark-skinned, shaven headed woman with a single strip of hair grown long enough to sweep over one side of her scalp. She had a formidable-looking tattoo on her cheek – the Imperial symbol, a fist within a sun, with crossed swords behind it.

 _“Specialist Obari Kane,”_ the VPA said. _“Tech expert, system hacker, demolition-expert.”_

Uriel frowned. A tech-expert on his list for Corp team leader?

 _“Enlisted on planet Stormcrow, assigned to local militia,”_ the VPA continued. _“Saw distinguished service during the battle of Stormcrow.”_

Uriel considered the image of the woman in front of him. Technical expertise was unusual among Imperial Marines – after all, ships had naval engineers for that kind of job – but it was still a useful skill set. And the action on Stormcrow… his train of thought derailed, and he suppressed an urge to chuckle.

“Anyone who’s lived on that skekhole deserves a promotion by default,” he muttered.

 _“Sir?”_ the VPA asked.

“Disregard that sentence.” _Damn literal minded AI._ “Save Kane’s file and show me the next one,” Uriel said. Truth be told, he was starting to think that maybe Laughlin and the other Admirals hadn’t given him such a dud bunch after all. It would be difficult choosing between them.

He must have gone through a good half dozen other files after that. Officers from across the Empire, with a host of different skillsets. Some, he managed to immediately decide against. Others, he considered carefully and saved. Finally, his VPA came up with no more files.

 _“Those are all the files related to Corp team leader position, sir,”_ it told him evenly.

Uriel let out a sigh of relief. That was something, at least: he wouldn’t have to go through any more of these different bloody officers.

“Alright,” he said, putting off the decision for the moment. “Save the lot of them, then bring up the XO list.”

 _“Yes, sir,”_ the VPA said. _“One moment please.”_

A moment later, the image of a woman with neatly-cut short black hair and pale blue eyes popped up. She wore the same scarlet uniform pea-coat that Uriel himself wore, but hers was buttoned all the way up to the collar, looking uncomfortable enough that Uriel felt the urge to rub his own neck in sympathy.

 _“Lieutenant Commander Annabelle Theresa Liliana Hayne,”_ the VPA said. _“Took command of the_ SES Byn Vaynar _during the battle of Stormcrow.”_

Uriel nodded: he’d heard about the actions of the _Byn Vaynar_ during that battle _,_ but he’d never thought to look up the officer in question. _An error in judgement on my part._

“Surprised she wasn’t given her own ship,” he commented aloud.

 _“Her record notes that she was promoted from Lieutenant to Lieutenant Commander at this point in her career,”_ the VPA said, _“but it was felt she needed further experience before being promoted to a senior position.”_

Uriel nodded slowly. That made sense: fast-track promoting someone before they got the experience they needed was almost always a fast-track only to disaster.

“Next,” he said.

This list, he noticed, was shorter. Executive Officers were a different breed from Corp team leaders, after all. Still, he wasn’t short of choices in this regard either.

The next image that _really_ caught his attention was a dark-haired man whose file image showed him in naval fatigues with a small smile on a tired-looking, tan-skinned face popped up. Uriel frowned when he realised the man’s uniform shirt was in the green of the colonial navy.

 _“Officer Gavin Lang, formerly of the_ SCS Avalon, _now temporary duty officer at Solarin One One Six.”_

The image must have been an older one, Uriel thought, since One One Six was Imperial navy and not Colonial.

“Anything remarkable on his record?” he asked.

 _“There is a notable a tendency towards what is referred to as ‘lateral thinking’, Captain,”_ the VPA replied.

 _‘Lateral thinking’, huh?_ Uriel frowned. That had always been one of the more polite ways of saying that an officer was a pain in the ass. Uriel remembered the phrase being used to describe him numerous times.

“Alright,” he said, frowning. “Next.”

He continued to go through the candidates carefully, though he glanced at the clock and realised he’d been sitting here contemplating for almost two hours. The next candidate that really stood out, however, was a Vyde officer whose file image was them in shirtsleeves with dirt on their face.

 _“Lieutenant Commander Varnyk Zeyn,”_ the VPA said. _“Former Weapon’s Officer of the_ SCS Varyn Thyre _, veteran of the Scourge of Zynla.”_

Locke’s eyes widened slightly. The Scourge of Zynla… now that had been one _hell_ of a mess. Judging by Zeyn’s dishevelled appearance, this image had been taken when he had been in the middle of that battle.

 _“Those are all the files related to Executive Officer position, sir,”_ the VPA told him in that calm tone.

Locke leant back on his sofa, frowning. There were a lot of good officers in amongst those candidates. He’d saved a fair few good choices.

 _I don’t need more than one XO and Corp Team Leader,_ he thought with a frown. But there was definitely more than one good choice for each position. Considering his options, Locke opened up a personnel roster on his computer and went through it, a small smile spreading on his face.

“Alright,” he said, “VPA, I want to draft a message to Admiral Jayne Laughlin.”

 _“Ready to begin dictation,”_ the VPA said.

Uriel took a deep breath. _They’re either gonna love this or hate it. Either way, though…_

“Jayne,” he began. “I’ve given the candidate list some thought, and this is what I’d like to do…”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, huh?
> 
> Truth be told, I started this at a bad time in my life, and I was sort of vacillating about continuing at all. But eventually I decided it was worth doing, if only because I felt like it would be interesting to do so and really explore this era of Oracle’s history.


	3. Two: A Ragtag Collection Of Misfits

Two

ARagtag Collection Of Misfits

***

**Space Station Solarin One One Six, Solin 14th, 3731 of the Second Solarin Age. 0730 hours.**

Lieutenant Erin Hall took a deep breath as she walked down the corridor towards Docking Port 7. Dressed in her scarlet Marine fatigues, she felt hopelessly underdressed for the assignment that she was undertaking.

She had been pulled from her previous assignment at the Gallad Academy and redirected to Solarin One One Six without much warning, but she didn’t mind. Training assignments, working with teenage idiots who thought they knew everything… well, they were the dullest pieces of skek she’d ever experienced.

But _this_ job? Assignment to a top of the line ship? As the ship’s Marine Corp team leader?

_Damn._ Now _that_ was a job to look forward to.

She paused by one of the portholes near the Docking Port, and looked out at the frigate docked with One One Six. The lines of the _Valiant_ -class were definitely something to behold, and for a moment she just stood there, admiring the smooth curves as they tapered, short curved struts extending out from the main hull to three cylindrical engines.

“Beauty, isn’t she?” a prim female voice said from behind her.

Hall almost started, but managed to restrain herself, instead turning to look at the woman who had spoken. It was a dark haired woman, blue eyes staring past Erin to the frigate, her hair neat and short. She wore an officer pea coat, buttoned up so tightly that it was a wonder she wasn’t choking. Erin noted her rank insignia – the stripes of a Lieutenant Commander – and stood to attention.

“Ma’am,” she said, saluting.

The officer saluted back. “At ease, Lieutenant,” she said easily. “We’re not at our duty stations yet.”

“No, ma’am,” Erin said. “Lieutenant Erin Hall, Marine Team Leader and Assault Specialist.”

“Annabelle Hayne, Lieutenant Commander,” the other woman replied with a nod. “Assigned to the _Bellerophon_?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erin said, nodding. “I’m taking over the Marine Team aboard.”

“I’m being assigned as XO,” Hayne replied, smiling. “I was, in fact, on my way aboard the _Bellerophon_ – the Captain wanted to see me.”

Erin blinked. “Me too, actually. Oh-eight-hundred, main briefing room, A-deck.”

Hayne’s smile faded, and she frowned gently. “That’s the time I was given.” After a moment, she shrugged. “Must be an administrative error. Or he wants to speak to us both at once.”

“Maybe,” Erin said, nodding. She motioned. “After you, ma’am.”

***

The corridors of the _Bellerophon_ weren’t all that different from the station, except for the fact that, for some reason, there were accents painted on in Imperial Scarlet and a shade Hayne had identified as ‘Agemon Blue’. Erin didn’t find them garish, but they were confusing: most ships didn’t bother with such things.

“Captains have a certain leeway,” Hayne had said when Erin mentioned it, not looking at the Marine. “I’ve heard Captain Locke is an eccentric.”

“An _eccentric_?” Erin repeated. “How so?”

Hayne simply looked at her. “Didn’t you research him?”

Erin hadn’t, in point of fact, made time to research her new CO. But something about Hayne’s tone rubbed her the wrong way.

“I was called to One One Six off another assignment,” she replied, keeping her own voice neutral. “Didn’t have time to review anything, and I only got told I was the Corp Team Leader last night.”

Hayne nodded. “I see.” She turned her attention ahead of her again. “I wasn’t informed until last night either, but I suspected I was getting a ship post and the _Bellerophon_ was the only ship docked.” She snorted at some private joke. “Well, her and the _Triumph,_ but _Triumph_ is a _Rigor_ -class, and no one would assign me to a _Rigor_ -class.”

Erin nodded without saying anything, and continued to walk alongside Hayne, wondering just who she was.

_I’ll just have to ‘do my research’,_ she thought with a slight grimace. _After. Other things to think about right now._

“Captain Locke,” Hayne said after a moment of the silence, “has been the Captain of the _Bellerophon_ for eighteen months. Before that, he commanded the _Seraphim_ into battle in the First Border War.”

“With the shell-heads?” Erin said before she could stop herself.

Hayne frowned. “With the Ghaoraag, yes. Is the racial slur required?”

Erin snorted. “I never fought those bastards before, but I knew men and women who did. I don’t have _anything_ nice to say about those shellheaded skekstains.”

“That’s obvious, Lieutenant,” Hayne said, rolling her eyes slightly. “I’ve never fought them either, but I don’t see why one would need to use racial slurs.”

“Because they’re the _enemy_ ,” Erin snapped. She paused, collecting herself, as Hayne gave her a raised eyebrow. “Ma’am.”

Hayne chuckled at that. “Yes, they are.”

With that, she continued on, Erin following her, frowning at the tone of voice Hayne had used.

_What’s her problem?_ she thought.

***

It was a few minutes and a couple of conspicuously quiet lift rides later that the two women reached a door marked ‘Main Briefing Room’. Hayne went in first, the door opening to admit her, and Erin followed, taking in the body of the room.

It was a surprisingly large space: almost like a small theatre, with a stage, a projection wall, and seats sloping from the top of the room where Erin and Hayne had entered to the base, where a stage was set up. There were officers in many of the seats, some in Marine gear and some in officer uniforms.

On the stage, there was a desk with a computer, and there were two officers stood in front of the projection screen. One was an Admiral, a woman with greying hair in a long scarlet Admiral’s coat, and the other was a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes, a small smirk on his face, and an officer peacoat with Captain’s epaulettes. He wore it open, a black turtleneck visible beneath it, and he had his arms folded. He was looking over the room with narrow, appraising eyes: Erin met his gaze as she took a seat three rows from the front, and she felt the sudden urge to check her chronometer to make sure she wasn’t late.

_07:55_ , it blinked at her. _Thank Soleil._

“Is this everyone?” the Admiral asked, quietly but loudly enough to be heard.

“Not quite,” the Captain said, looking at the door. “Still waiting on -”

And just as he spoke, a dark-haired, tan-skinned man entered, puffing slightly, as though he had been running. He wore an officer turtleneck, but no coat, and his trousers were creased.

“- Lieutenant Lang,” the Captain finished, chuckling. “Nice of you to join us, Lieutenant.” Erin blinked, noticing that he spoke in a colonial twang – he must have been from one of the outer worlds. “And properly dressed, too. Mostly.”

“Sorry, sir,” Lang said, his voice light and soft, dancing around in a lilting mid-Imperial accent. “Couldn’t for the life of me find my proper coat, and turning up in green’d look a little out of place, you know?”

The Captain motioned for Lang to take a seat, and he did so… right next to Erin.

“Sorry,” he said quietly to her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead focusing on the Captain, who was now looking around the room.

“Alright,” he said. He looked at the Admiral. “Jayne, the ball is in your court.”

The Admiral coughed, frowning gently at the Captain, before looking at the various officers in the room.

“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Admiral Jayne Laughlin, mission commander for this operation. I will be giving the rundown of your objectives, as well as coordinating the mission from One One Six.”

Erin straightened slightly. A mission? Straight off the bat?

_You wanted action,_ she thought to herself. _Guess it’s here._

Laughlin tapped a control on the computer, and the image of a planet was projected onto the wall. Facts and statistics popped up alongside the image, displaying just about everything one could want to know.

“This is the planet Clarice,” Laughlin said quietly. “Thirty six hours ago, the planet went dark. No contact from any of the ships stationed there, no contact with the planet’s administration.” She took a breath. “We would normally suspect Ghoaraag involvement, but Clarice is at the far edge of inner Imperial space.” As she spoke, a graphic of Clarice’s position was shown. “The _Bellerophon_ is being dispatched there to find out what’s happened.”

Laughlin looked around the room, taking in everyone’s expressions. Erin was focused on the projection, looking at the information on display.

“I’ll hand over to your Captain,” the Admiral said after a moment. She looked at him. “Your floor, Uriel.”

The Captain smirked again, unfolding his arms. Erin focused her attention on him.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m Uriel Locke, Captain of the _Bellerophon_. Some of you know me, some of you don’t. For the record, hello to Lieutenants Lang, Hall and Ghannam, Commanders Zeyn and Hayne – loving the rhyming scheme, there – as well as Sergeant Majors – Sergeants Major? – Fuller and Byn Zynar, and Specialist Kane.”  

The named officers looked around. Erin didn’t: she felt self-conscious enough as it was, without adding to that feeling by meeting the curious eyes of her new shipmates.

“Our mission is simple,” Locke continued. “We have the most advanced engine in the fleet. We can get to Clarice even before the closest ships. If there’s a Ghoaraag threat, we can escalate area denial and give our people on the ground support. If there’s something else…” He paused. “Well, we can build the mine when we strike titanium.”

Hall nodded to herself. It all made reasonable amounts of sense to her.

“Now, as per the Admiralty’s preference,” Locke said, glancing at Laughlin (who looked mildly annoyed), “we’ve made a point of filling in as many of the gaps in our roster as we can. New officers can expect to be briefed about a few of the _Bellerophon’s_ … let’s call ‘em ‘quirks’… in their inaugural meetings with me. Check your mail, they’ll be scheduled.”

_Wait, what?_ Erin thought, frowning. Apparently, one of the other new officers thought so too, as she raised her hand. Erin craned her head to see who it was.

“Yes?” Locke asked the officer.

“Sorry, sir,” the officer said, her voice soft, “but what do you mean ‘inaugural meetings’?”

The Captain smiled, exchanging a look with Admiral Laughlin, who only rolled her eyes.  

“Well, Lieutenant Ghannam,” Locke said after a moment, “I mean that at some point, I am going to ask all the new members of my team – and that includes _you_ , by the way – to come to my cabin, and we _talk_.”

Ghannam lowered her hand, apparently embarrassed. Erin couldn’t blame her.

“As for the rest of you,” Locke said, “I expect one hundred percent integration of our new people. Understand?”

“Aye aye, sir!” the officers around Erin said as one.

“Alright,” Locke finished, looking at Laughlin. “If there’s nothing else…?”

Laughlin coughed. “Understand this. The Empire is counting on you to succeed.” She paused. “Good luck to all of you.”

With that, the Admiral walked out of one of the doors near the stage. There was a brief pause, and then Locke looked up at the crew, smirking at them.

“Well, no pressure there then,” he said with a chuckle. The officers around Erin laughed too, and even she let out a half-hearted snicker as the Captain clapped his hands together. “Alright! Dismissed!”

With that, the assembled officers stood, and Locke went out through the same door Admiral Laughlin had. Erin took a deep breath, before standing as well. Lang immediately left, without saying anything.

_Not that I mind,_ Erin thought, smirking. Now there was a man who was textbook disorganised. She saw Hayne stand as well, the new XO talking with some of the other officers, her expression studiously neutral as the other officers spoke. Erin frowned slightly, but quickly dismissed whatever thoughts were brewing about the other woman.

Sighing, Erin thought instead about her new position. Settling into this new post would be… _interesting_ at least.

_Hopefully the crew quarters on this ship aren’t as cramped as the last time I had a last shipboard posting_ , she thought, smiling softly to herself.

***

When Locke stepped out, Admiral Laughlin was waiting for him, her arms folded, and what Uriel had come to know as the Number Seven ‘You’re In Serious Skek’ expression. He nodded at her.

“Jayne,” he said. “We miss anything?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Seriously, Uriel?”

He shrugged, giving her the perfect innocent expression.

“Well, you’ve managed to assemble what I can only call a ragtag bunch of misfits to crew your ship,” she pointed out. “I’ve gone over the names, and -”

“You put those people on my lists, Jayne,” Locke countered at once. “ _You_ did. You wouldn’t let me go without filling spaces. You can’t blame _me_ for seeing the potential in a few of these files.”

“There’s seeing potential, and there’s putting _all_ of these people on the same ship,” Laughlin countered.

“It isn’t all of them,” Locke pointed out, but Laughlin held up a finger.

“Don’t play the semantic game with me, Uriel Locke,” she hissed. “Kane _and_ Fuller? Hayne with _Lang_? Do you have any idea what sort of personality clashes you’ve set up?”

Locke folded his arms again, scowling now. “If these people are going to put ‘personality clashes’ ahead of doing their damn jobs, I don’t want them in the fleet. Are they that unprofessional? Are those the kind of officers you put on a file for _my_ ship? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I -” Laughlin began, but Locke kept going.

“ _You_ wanted them there, Jayne, _you_ .” He pointed at her, his expression turning thunderous. _She wants to play hardball? I’ll play fratting hardball_ . “You insisted. I would have been happy for Quince to play acting XO until I’d had time to evaluate her potential for the job proper or get a new officer in that I’d picked. But no.” He lowered his hand. “ _You’re_ the ones who wanted those jobs filled _now_.”

She looked ready to argue some more, but instead she just sighed, shaking her head in defeat.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Uriel,” she said quietly.

“I _always_ know what I’m doing, Jayne,“ he replied, giving her a small smirk. “I picked the best officers from the collection of dossiers you gave me, and I’ve put them all to best use aboard my ship.”

“I know you think you have, Captain,” Laughlin countered, gesturing at the door behind him, “but this is still an important mission, and you can’t deny that a lot of these officers have… _interesting_ personalities.”

“Why, Jane,” Locke laughed, “in case you’d forgotten, _I_ was an interesting personality, back in the day.” He sobered, before crossing his arms. “Interesting personalities means we bring unorthodox ideas to the table. Having unorthodox ideas means unpredictability. And being unpredictable is what will win our war.”

Laughlin scowled. “It isn’t a war yet, Uriel.”

“Well, that’s the operative word, isn’t it?” He gave her another one of his smirks, his arms still folded. “ _Yet_.”

***


	4. Three: Departure

Three

Departure

***

 **SES** **_Bellerophon_** **, Solin 14th, 3731 of the Second Solarin Age. 12:30 hours.**

The bridge of the _Bellerophon_ was a cramped, bustling, rectangular space. In the dead centre of the bridge, set upon a raised dais, was the Captain’s chair. Commander Annabelle Hayne couldn’t help but stare at it, a soft smile ghosting its way onto her face as she looked over the black veer-leather upholstery.

 _One day,_ she thought.

She was dressed in her standard pea coat, buttoned up all the way, her neatly pressed uniform trousers tucked into her boots.

The rest of the bridge followed the standard configuration she was used to: the helm station at the fore, an observation screen, a weapons station to the right of the Captain’s chair, manned by a surly-looking Vyde, and an astronavigation and cartography station to the left, as well as the Executive Officer station right next to the main command seat. As Hayne walked onto the deck, she found herself whether any of these officers were resentful of her.

Her eyes alighted upon Lieutenant Jana Quince, helm officer and the acting XO on _Bellerophon_ \- or at least she _had_ been, prior to Hayne’s arrival _._ The helm officer’s blonde hair was tied behind her in a ponytail, and she had her uniform pea coat off, her white turtleneck showing.

“Lieutenant,” Hayne said.

The helm officer turned, her seat swivelling, showing a pale complexion, grey eyes, and a cheery smile.

“Hey, you’re the new Exec, right?” she asked, her accent distinctly warehouse-district Caliburnite. “Pleased to have you onboard. I’m Lieutenant -”

“Quince, Jana, helm officer for eight months on _Bellerophon_ , previously assigned to the border-patrol vessel _Absolute_ ,” Hayne interrupted. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Hayne. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Quince didn’t even stop smiling. “And yours, Commander! Nice to have a new Exec aboard. Been right weird sitting in the middle seat.”

She pointed to the Executive Officer station, and Hayne glanced back at it, giving a tight smile.

“I was ordered to come to the bridge at this time to meet with the Captain,” she said quietly. “Where is he?”

In response, Quince pointed to a doorway to the left of the observation screen. The label said **Captain’s Office**.

“It’s basically his ready room,” Quince said, shrugging. “He’s in there more than he’s on the bridge.”

“Good to know,” Hayne said, giving Quince a small smile. “Lieutenant.”

“Commander,” Quince said with a wink.

Hayne hesitated for a moment - _did she really just_ wink _at me?_ \- and then, with a slight shake of her head, she walked towards the office door, tapping the intercom. A moment later, the door opened, and she stepped inside.

It was sparsely decorated: a single standing desk, with a computer display and a window showing one of the spurs of Solarin One One Six. Captain Locke, wearing his black turtleneck, was staring out of the window at the station, his grey uniform coat dumped unceremoniously on the desk.

“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” he asked as she stepped into the room.

Hayne put her hands behind her back. “Captain?”

He half-turned. “One One Six. Just another station, just another point of light among a billion artificial points of light, but at the same time, a symbol of just how far our Empire reaches.”

Hayne didn’t say anything to that: it was a tad more lyrical than she went for.

“I’ve been rereading your file,” the Captain said after a moment. “Impressive work on the _Byn Vaynar._ ”

“Yes, sir,” Hayne said, nodding.

The Captain looked up at her. “You disagree?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Oh,” Locke said, a ghost of a smirk alighting his features, “then you _do_ think you were impressive.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and she gave a small smile of her own. “And with respect, clearly _you_ do, as well.”

“Oh, _do_ I?” he asked, folding his arms. “Want to run your theory by me, Lieutenant Commander?”

Hayne raised her chin. “You wanted me as your XO. I doubt I was the only choice. I’m not the only new naval officer on board. Chances are you were given a lot of options. But you didn’t go for them.” She lowered her head again, keeping her eyes fixed on his. “You picked _me_.”

Locke held her gaze silently for a few seconds, and then he laughed.

“Well, I can see I made the right call, at least in terms of confidence,” he said after a moment, still chuckling. He turned, picking up his datapad again. “As I said. I was rereading your file. You did well: took command of the _Byn Vaynar_ and held off the Ghaoraag’s forces, giving time for the troops on the ground to do their job without having to worry about shellhead reinforcements.”

Hayne winced at the slur, but said nothing.

“What you did is one reason you’re the XO for this mission, Commander,” Locke continued. He looked back at her. “At the end of the day, we can fight as many battles up here as we like, but if we can’t keep the boots on the ground covered, we’re dead.”

“If you say so, sir,” Hayne said, nodding.

Locke smiled, before looking at his datapad again. “So, tell me: how does the _Bellerophon_ stack up compared to the _Byn_ _Vaynar_?”

Hayne took a breath. “They’re the same class. It’s… a bit like _thyris vydo_ sometimes.”

“ _Thyris vydo?_ ” Locke repeated, frowning.

Hayne smiled. “Sorry, that’s the Vyde term for deja vu. Picked it up from a former colleague.”

Locke nodded in comprehension. “Well, there _are_ some differences in our configuration compared to the earlier _Valiant_ -class ships,” he pointed out. “Everything after the _Vanguard_ in the _Valiant_ -class production line will be in this configuration.”

“So I understand, sir,” Hayne said, nodding. “I’ve done some research, but a lot of the specs of the _Bellerophon_ and _Vanguard_ are still classified Captain’s eyes only.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Locke said, his expression becoming more serious. He leant on his desk, looking at the table for a moment pensively before meeting her eyes. “What I’m about to tell you is something only the crews of these ships are allowed to know, and then only a handful are permitted to know the exact details.”

Hayne stiffened. “I understand, sir.”

Locke nodded. “The _Vanguard_ and the _Bellerophon_ are the first two ships fitted with the new Underspace drive.”

Hayne blinked. _Underspace? The_ Bonaventure _engine?_

“I know what you’re thinking,” Locke said, smiling ruefully. “I had engineers and other officers tell me this a thousand times. ‘Underspace is inherently unstable’.”

“It’s not just unstable, sir,” Hayne countered. “My understanding is that it was… well, _dangerous_. Ships that tried prolonged Underspace journeys…”

“Were usually _unsuccessful_ , yes.” Locke was nodding. “Traditional thinking would have had Underspace dismissed as a genuine option thousands of years ago.” He grinned at her. “But that was before _our_ engine.”

“Yes, sir,” Hayne said, frowning. “So when you said we had the most advanced engine…”

“I meant the Underspace drive,” Locke said with a nod. “If you’ve any other concerns, Commander…”

Hayne shook her head at once, and Locke smiled.

“Good to know,” he said. He grabbed his peacoat from his desk and sighed. “We’re scheduled to depart at fourteen hundred hours. Gives us an hour and a half to get some of the boring stuff done. Then we can get you in position and get on with our mission.”

Hayne smile. “Looking forward to it, sir.”

“Right,” Locke said, motioning to the door. “Shall we?”

***

The corridor leading to the main Corp team ready room was a little blander than most of the halls Erin had seen on _Bellerophon_ , but she wasn’t complaining. She’d been getting _really_ sick of Agemon blue.

The ready room was a large enough space. There were a few Marines already there, most dressed in fatigues, but a couple already in their armour. One, a very pale, almost bloodless woman with a stripe of blonde right down the middle of her otherwise brunette locks, was staring at Erin with a frown. Another was dark skinned with a mohawk, adjusting one piece of her armour with a scowl of concentration.

Erin took a breath. “Alright.”

At once, every Marine in the room looked at her. Even though she’d commanded soldiers in battle, Erin always felt a twinge of unease dealing with new people. These people had to trust her to give commands in the middle of a fight - and she had to trust them to obey them, and keep her safe as well.

“I’m Erin Hall, Lieutenant,” she said evenly. “I’m the new head of the Corp detachment on this ship.”

A few scattered nods of acknowledgement.

“I don’t know any of you,” Erin continued, “so this is going to take some getting used to. But we’re all professionals. We do our jobs, no matter what.”

A few murmurs. Erin frowned.

“If anyone’s got a problem,” she added, “let’s hear it.”

“Long as you give me something to kill,” the dark-skinned woman said, “I don’t care.”

Erin frowned at her: she had no traditional rank symbol: rather, she had the pin for the Specialist rank on, which implied that she was highly experienced.

“Alright, specialist…?”

“Kane, Obari,” the woman said. She gave an ironic smirk. “Nice to meetcha.” She paused. “ _Ma’am_.”

“Ignore her, ma’am” the pale woman said, scowling at her. “She’s _Stormcrow_. They’re all attitude.”

“Specialist Kane,” Erin said, nodding. “You’re new, too, right?”

“Yup,” Kane said. “So’s Miss Prissy.”

The pale woman rolled her eyes. “Syriac Fuller, Sergeant Major. I believe I’m the second in command of the team.”

Erin nodded again. “Good to meet you, Sergeant Major.” She looked around the room. “Anyone else have anything they want to say?”

The room was silent, and Erin let out a sigh.

“Alright then,” she said. “I’m going to be going through your personnel files en route to Clarice. I don’t expect to learn everyone’s name, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Don’t put yourself out on our account, LT,” one of the soldiers, a woman with shaved hair and corporal’s stripes, said. She was smirking to her comrades. “You won’t be here long.”

Erin folded her arms, and the room’s silence became still, uneasy.

“Problem, Corporal…?” she asked.

The Corporal coughed, suddenly acutely aware that everyone was staring at her. “Uh, Miller, Ma’am. And, uh…” she scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “No problems, ma’am. Just, uh…” She laughed. “Well, the Captain’s nuts.”

“‘Nuts’,” Erin repeated, her eyebrows meeting her hairline. “Want to run that one by me, Corporal Miller?”

Miller swallowed. “You, uh, didn’t read up what happened to the last LT, did you?”

“Not yet,” Erin said tightly. She crossed her arms. “Perhaps you’d like to fill me in?”

Miller’s eyes widened, and she made a few hesitant-sounding noises.

“The LT gave you an order, Corporal Miller,” Fuller put in sternly. “Answer her damn question.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Miller said, snapping to attention. “Uh, the Captain ordered the old LT, Myrn, to lead a boarding party onto a shellhead - uh, that is -”

“I know what you mean,” Erin said, holding up a hand. “Continue.”

“Well… the attack went to skek, Ma’am,” Miller said slowly. “We took heavy casualties, then the Captain ordered us to pull out while he blew the enemy ship up.”

“We should never have boarded,” another marine piped up. “The shellies are too tough to take on their own turf.”

“Veerskak,” Kane snorted derisively. “I’ve seen the shellies die on _their_ turf, on _our_ turf, on whoever’s fratting turf I’ve been on when I’ve killed ‘em.”

“Yeah sure,” Miller scowled. “Bet a Stormcrow skekker like you -”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Erin cut in.

The two soldiers shut up immediately, Kane looking more than a little irritated.

“Calm it down, Kane,” Erin said to her. She looked at Miller. “Thank you for your input, Corporal Miller.”

Miller nodded, clearly uneasy. Truth be told, Erin couldn’t blame her. But she was here to do a job, not to hear stories about the Captain’s recklessness.

 _But if the Captain_ is _that reckless…_ she thought involuntarily. She took a breath.

“We’re scheduled to depart at fourteen hundred, and arrival time at Clarice is scheduled for fifteen thirty tomorrow,” she said. _Somehow: most ships wouldn’t get there until a_ week _from now_ _, but…_ “I want everyone battle ready and in squads for fifteen hundred tomorrow. I expect a briefing on the tactical situation to be ready by fifteen forty, and deployment at no later than sixteen hundred.” When no one said anything else, she nodded. “Dismissed.”

With that, everyone stood, heading for the door closest the locker room. Erin took a deep breath, steadying herself. That was when she realised that Fuller was still there.

“Ma’am,” she said. “Can I have a word?”

“Sure,” Erin said, motioning for her to speak.

Fuller took a breath. “You wanted us ready for deployment the minute we get there… but you don’t know if we’ll actually be deployed at all.”

Erin frowned. “Meaning what, Sergeant Major?”

“Meaning, we know almost nothing about the situation,” Fuller said. “We don’t know if we’re going to be deployed, or if there’s even anything going on.”

“We don’t,” Erin agreed, “but I’d rather be ready than not.”

Fuller nodded, though she was still frowning. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but… we really _don’t_ know the situation.”

“You’re right, we don’t,” Erin said, sighing. “But _I_ know what not being ready means.”

Fuller paused at that, before nodding, her expression softening. She walked out of the room without another word, and Erin rolled her head back, feeling her tense energy leave her.

 _First things first,_ she thought, _I’ve_ got _to read up on Captain Locke._

***

At thirteen fifty hours, Uriel Locke sat in his command chair, checking one of his armrest displays. Hayne took her own chair,  checking her readouts for anything important.

“Captain,” she said after a moment, “all decks report departure ready.”

“Excellent,” Locke said, smiling. He turned to the helm station. “Quince - notify dock control that we’re ready to depart.”

“Aye, sir,” Quince said from her station. She tapped some commands into her console, and a moment later there was a beep. “Dock control just cleared us.”

Locke nodded, before checking his armrest display again.

“Commander,” he said to Hayne, not looking up at her. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Hayne nodded, before standing up. “Helm: take us to the system’s edge at maximum sublight.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Quince said, inputting another command. “Course plotted, awaiting your order.”

Hayne took a breath, permitting herself a small smile. “Engage course.”

“Aye, aye,” Quince said.

There were only a few moments before they were at the edge of the system.

Hayne turned to Locke. “Sir?”

Captain Locke stood, looking at Hayne. “Ready to see something impressive, Commander?”

“Aye, sir,” Hayne said.

“Alright,” he said. “Quince, is the engine primed?”

“Primed and waiting your command, sir,” Quince said. She paused, turning. “Engineer Sullus begs to remind you that the engines are delicate and need a ‘gentle stream, not a raging torrent’. Whatever that means.”

Locke gave a smirk and nodded. “Please inform him that I will bear that in mind. Hayne: stand by all decks for Underspace.”

As Quince, chuckling, inputted a command into her console, Hayne met Locke’s gaze. He simply smirked again. Hayne, raising her eyebrow, sat at her station, checking her readouts.

“All decks signal readiness, sir,” she said after a moment.

“Alright,” Locke said. “‘Ms Quince. Go.”

Quince inputted another command, and then the observation screen seemed to light up, flaring slightly. Hayne held up a hand, wincing at the light… and then lowered it, her eyes wide.

Space had… there was no other way to describe it but to say that it had turned negative. Black dots seemed to sith within an eternal white void, swirling with dustings of different colours. Many of the dots seemed to move like lines past the observation screen.

“Well,” Locke said to Hayne, still smirking. “How do you like Underspace?”

She didn’t have an answer for him.

***  



	5. Four: En Route To Clarice

Four

En Route To Clarice

***

 **SES** **_Bellerophon_ ** **, Solin 15th, 3731 of the Second Solarin Age. 05:30 hours.**

Erin hated looking out of the windows.

The white space looked… _wrong_ , somehow. The black emptiness of space was usually comforting, in its own way - there could be _something_ in that darkness, and the points of light only confirmed that. But this whiteness, punctuated only by a few points of black, felt _empty_.

 _What kind of shunt drive are we even using?_ Erin thought, staring out of her window at the empty white space surrounding the _Bellerophon_. She could only assume it was some fancy new take on the traditional shunt drive that the engineers from Fleet R &D had knocked together. Or maybe a sphincter drive?

_All the stars, let it not be a sphincter drive._

Whatever it was, she knew shouldn’t really have been surprised. Soleil knew, those guys could come up with some weird skek. Erin found herself smirking in remembrance of one of the odd particle weapons an R&D boffin had brought to her unit, back before she’d gone through officer training. Said weapon had supposedly been able to fire highly-charged particle bolts at a more rapid rate than any existing ground-based particle weapon. All it had really done was flash-fry the poor training drone they’d attached it to.

This white-space propulsion system, whatever it was… it was probably something like that. What else _could_ it be?

 _Let the flyboys worry about it,_ she thought after a moment, shaking her head and forcing herself not to look at the window. After all, she had other things to worry about.

Tapping a few commands into her personal computer, Erin began her research.

Typing _Captain Uriel Locke_ into the system immediately brought up an image - an older image, judging by the black hair and unlined face - of the Captain, smiling out at the screen. His service record had more than a few blackouts: not really surprising, given that he was a Captain. He’d probably been on a few classified missions over the years.

The first thing she read up was the basics.

**Uriel Locke**

**Rank:** Captain

 **Species:** Human (baseline)

 **Age:** 53

 **Assignment:** SES _Bellerophon_ IV-31

 **Previous Assignment:** SES _Babel_ IP-66

 _The_ Babel _?_ she thought, frowning at the screen. Something about that name seemed familiar, but she didn’t know where she had heard it before. Typing it in brought up the stats for a _Pioneer_ -class vessel, whose service record was heavily redacted. All she found was a launch date in Novelysium 3725, and a destruction date in Mye 3730. But no details about how she had gone down. The only other detail she could see was the list of survivors… and there was only one.

_Captain Uriel Locke._

Erin frowned. That was certainly a curiosity: had the ship been lost because of something the Captain had done, some mission that had gone wrong? She might not have had much to go on, but with Corporal Miller’s tale of a reckless boarding action on the Ghoaraag ship, the idea that Locke had lost a ship to similar recklessness didn’t seem too out of place.

A soft beep pinged up on her computer, and she frowned, tapping the notification. Her eyes widened in surprise: it was a message from the Captain, marked URGENT.

_To: Hall, Erin, Lt, Marine Corp Team Leader_

_From: Locke, Uriel, Captain, CO SES_ **_Bellerophon_ ** _._

_Please come to my office on the main command deck at your earliest convenience to discuss tactical situation on Clarice and other matters._

There was no valediction. The message, terse and to the point, made Erin swallow reflexively. ‘Other matters’? Had he somehow been informed about her search?

 _Captains don’t have automatic access to their officers’ search histories,_ she reminded herself. _And even if he did, it’s been five minutes, and he’s hardly going to complain about you researching your own damn Commanding Officer. Stop being paranoid, Hall._

She tapped out a quick reply: _Will report presently, sir._

She sighed, leaning back in her chair, and returned her attention to the here and now. She had drawn up a rough tactical plan for Clarice last night - now it was time to finalise some things.

***

The bridge was busy when Erin got there twenty minutes later. Commander Hayne was sat in the command chair, apparently going over something on a tablet. She turned in the chair as Erin entered.

“Lieutenant,” she greeted, nodding once. “The Captain is waiting for you in his office.”

“Thanks,” Erin said, smiling softly, though her smile quickly faded as she caught sight of the view from the observation window. Hayne, noticing her staring, turned to look at it as well, before looking back at Erin with what might have been an apologetic expression in someone else’s face, but just looked irritated on hers.

“I’m… sure the Captain will explain a little about… _that_ ,” she said. She was even trying to _sound_ apologetic.

 _Don’t prejudge people,_ Erin told herself. Her initial impression of Hayne wasn’t the be-all and end-all of the woman, after all.

She gave Hayne another smile and went to the door to the Captain’s office, smoothly pressing the buzzer. A moment later, the door opened, and Erin stepped inside.

Captain Locke was standing at a standing desk, his computer open and his uniform coat slung carelessly over the desk. He didn’t so much as look up as Erin entered the room.

“Lieutenant,” he drawled. “Good to see you. Was expecting ‘presently’ to be a bit sooner than twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, sir,” Erin said, stiffening slightly. “I had to go over my tactical displays and make sure I had a solid plan of action to present.”

Locke looked up at her then, his piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly. “And do you?”

“I like to think so, sir,” Erin replied, nodding.

Locke’s eyes stayed narrowed for a moment, and then he smiled.

“Alright,” he said, “hit me with it.”

Erin let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d even been holding, and walked up to the desk.

“If I may, sir?” she asked.

“By all means,” he said, motioning to the computer.

She stepped behind the desk, inserting a portable data-drive into the computer and bringing up a holographic display of a city. A label above the main display read ‘Capita City Control’, showing a tall, cylindrical building surrounded by smaller hab-blocks.

“This should be our initial insertion point,” she said smartly, pointing to the cylindrical building. “Capita control is one of the key strategic structures. It’ll have been taken or destroyed in the initial assault, presuming a standard ground-landing -”

“Are you presuming that?” Locke interrupted, looking at her. His arms were folded and his expression was the kind of neutral Erin found disconcerting in a superior officer.

Taking a breath, she shook her head. “Not as such, sir. But in most circumstances, Capita control is the place to start.”

“I see,” Locke said, nodding. “What sort of force will you need?”

“I recommend minimal insertion unit,” Erin replied. She tapped a control on the computer, and her own image, along with Specialist Kane’s and Sergeant Major Fuller’s, appeared, as well as Corporal Miller and a Sevine Private named Bastuen. “Five troops, able to ascertain the situation on the ground and escalate ground area denial. Once we have a secure position, we can call in reinforcement.”

“Solid,” Locke said, nodding. “Good plan. When will your team be ready?”

“I’ve given the team orders to be ready for deployment at fifteen hundred,” Erin replied, “with an expected deployment of sixteen hundred.”

“Giving time, I presume, for me to ascertain the exact tactical situation and brief your people,” Locke said with a questioning look.

Erin nodded. “I took everything I thought necessary into account, sir.”

“Nicely done,” Locke said, smiling. He took a breath, before tapping a control, the holographic display disappearing. “Now, I believe you missed your scheduled meeting.”

“Sir?” Erin said, frowning.

Locke blinked at her. “I sent you a message, Lieutenant. You were scheduled to meet with me yesterday at eighteen-thirty.”

Erin paused for a moment, her eyes widening in horror. _I never checked my damn mail properly._

“Skek,” she swore. “I’m sorry, Captain, I just -”

“If you’re to continue working on my ship after this mission,” Locke interrupted, folding his arms and frowning, “I want to be sure I’m not pissing messages into the void.”

Erin swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” Locke said, still frowning. It softened slightly. “Still, you’re here now to make up for it.”

He turned to look out of his office window, and motioned for Erin to come stand next to him.

“I read your file as part of the selection process,” he said evenly. “I found myself particularly impressed by your efforts during the Gallad insurrection.”

At the words, Erin closed her eyes. _Please don’t ask, please don’t ask…_

“Fighting any citizen of the Empire’s gotta be a tough call, whether they’re Insurrectionists or not,” Locke continued, his tone of voice soft and commisatory. “I’ve only fought the shellheads and done a few far-border runs myself. I’ve never directly encountered Insurrectionism. You’re to be commended.”

Erin opened her eyes, meeting his surprisingly sympathetic gaze and wondering just why he said that. Did he mean it?

“If you say so, sir,” she finally replied.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then simply smiled, looking back out the window.

“I take it you’re eager to fight the shellies,” he said.

Erin smiled, relieved to be off the topic of Insurrectionism. “Yes, sir. Looking forward to giving those bastards a bloody nose.”

“I hope to give them a good deal more than that, if it’s them,” Locke said, smiling back at her. His smile faded, and Erin’s heart sank. “That said, you realise that we don’t really know what happened out there? It might still prove to be something unknown. Or, worst case scenario -”

“Sir,” Erin interrupted, “I know it might be another Insurrection. If you’re worried, I promise, I’ll do my job.” She stiffened, standing a little straighter than before. “No matter what.”

Locke met her gaze evenly, before nodding. “I believe you, Lieutenant.”

He looked back out at the white void, and Erin relaxed, following his gaze.

“Comforting, isn’t it?” he asked after a moment.

“Sir?” Erin asked.

“The white void,” he clarified, motioning out of the window. “I always feel like… like it’s _brighter_ . More welcoming. The blackness hides everything in its infinite nothingness, but nothing can hide in here.” His eyes seemed to light up as he spoke. “It feels… _freer_.”

Erin frowned. “That… isn’t exactly how I’d see it, sir.”

“No?” Locke said, looking at her. “Then, if I may, how _do_ you see it?”

“Honestly, sir?” Erin replied, looking out at it. “It’s… it’s _scary_.”

“You think so?” he asked, sounding disappointed. “Pity.”

“Sir,” Erin said after a moment, “If I may… what exactly is… that?”

She nodded to the whiteness outside the window, and Locke smiled.

“That’s right, I _did_ say I’d explain a few of _Bellerophon’s_ quirks, didn’t I?” He chuckled, as if at some private joke, and Erin was torn between wondering what was funny and wondering how space looking _wrong_ constituted a ‘quirk’. “Well, let’s see.”

He moved over to his desk, and input a command. A moment later, he pulled up an image of a starship. An ancient image, if the degradation of the image quality and the ship’s design features were anything to go by.

“That’s… the _Bonaventure_ ,” Erin said after a moment, frowning. “I know the story of that ship.”

“I imagine the whole Empire knows the story of that ship,” Locke said with a chuckle. “But, if I might ask a small indulgence, Lieutenant - tell me what you know about the _Bonaventure_.”

Erin frowned, wondering where he was going with this. “The Bonaventure was a test ship. They put an engine in her that was supposed to be able to go into another dimension - and oh Soleil, this ship has that engine.”

It hit her like a ton of bricks, and her eyes widened in horror at the thought. Locke chuckled.

“That’s right,” he said. “We’re fitted with an advanced Underspace drive. The latest toy from Imperial R&D.”

“An… an _Underspace_ drive,” Erin repeated faintly. “That… I don’t… how? _Why_?”

“The _how_ is a complex mess I leave to my engineers to make sense of,” Locke said, waving a hand dismissively. “The why is easier to answer: we _need_ to be faster than the Ghoaraag.” He looked at Erin. “They are the strongest interstellar species the Empire has faced. None of the other races have anywhere near the same threat level: the Serish are small, neutral and have nothing we need that we can’t get without conflict. The Karakik are this close,” he held up a hand, pinching to fingers together, “to protectorate status. The Sevine, the Vyde, the Tuur, the Mikon, they’re all loyal and trusted members of the Imperial family.” He scowled. “But we’ll never have that with the Ghoaraag. They’re belligerent, aggressive, and they want the space we have as much as _we_ do. So we need every advantage.”

“But… but isn’t Underspace like… like _hell_ or something?” Erin asked, looking out at the white void with new horror. “Monsters and dæmons live in there, don’t they?”

Locke scowled. “Don’t be stupid, Lieutenant. The Empire wouldn’t be investigating the possibility of using it as a travelling mechanism if it was _that_ kind of dangerous.”  

 _Sure we wouldn’t,_ Erin thought grimly, privately believing that the Empire probably _would,_ even if it were only a few tests.

“Right now,” Locke continued, “ _Bellerophon_ and her immediate predecessor in the line, _Warrior_ , are the only two Imperial ships with the drive fitted.” He smiled. “We’ve already tested the proverbial hells out of it, before you ask. We’ve had patrol runs, milk runs, and one irritating trip ferrying the Gallad Senatorial Representative to Caliburn.”

Erin frowned at the mention of the Gallad Representative, but said nothing more. Locke’s smile seemed to widen.

“Don’t worry, he was perfectly polite, once we’d had a… _conversation_ or two,” he said with a chuckle.

Erin nodded. She still felt uncertain. “Sir, about this drive…”

“As I said, _we’ve tested it_ ,” Locke said, speaking quietly but firmly. “All the kinks are _more_ than worked out. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust the drive to do its job.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure Erin, but she nodded.

 _“Captain Locke, please report to the bridge,”_ an unfamiliar voice came through the intercom.

Locke rapped a control on his desk. “This is Locke. I’m on my way.” He looked at Erin with a smile. “We’ll speak more about your concerns in due course, Lieutenant. For now, make sure your people are ready for action.”

“Aye, sir,” Erin said, saluting. Locke returned the salute, and then Erin walked out of the office, taking a deep breath as she did so.

She’d started the day thinking that Uriel Locke might have been reckless. Now there was no doubt.

 _Underspace,_ she thought. _Fratting_ Underspace _, for Soleil’s sake._

***

Hayne looked up as Lieutenant Hall left the Captain’s office, the Captain following shortly after her. While he went to the Astronavigation station to speak with the midshipman manning it, Hall headed straight for the lift.

She looked troubled, and Hayne knew why - the reason was, after all, staring them all in the face from the observation window. Standing from her seat, Hayne went over to the concerned-looking Marine.

“Lieutenant,” she said quietly. “Did he tell you?”

Hall met Hayne’s gaze at once, then looked around furtively, before looking back at her.

“He told me this ship runs on… on an _Underspace_ engine,” she whispered. Her uncertainty and fear was written in her face.

Hayne nodded, before looking around, making sure no one was paying attention to their conversation .

 _It’s the job of a commander to respect the concerns of their crew,_ she remembered reading in one of the many books on the subject.

“Meet me at twelve hundred in the officer’s mess,” she said quietly. “We’ll talk about it.”

Hall nodded, before entering the lift, giving Hayne the ghost of a smile. Hayne let out a sigh.

“Everything alright, Exec?” came the Captain’s voice from behind her. Hayne turned, to see him standing in the doorway, that ever-present small smirk of his still on his face.

She nodded. “Just speaking with the Lieutenant.”

Locke nodded, his smirk softening into a sympathetic smile. “Think she took some information I gave her a little poorly.”

He was talking about the engine, of course. Hayne saw Quince turn in her chair, curiosity all over her expression. Recognising that this was not a conversation to have across the bridge, Hayne walked over to the Captain.

“I’ve told her I’ll speak with her at twelve hundred,” she said quietly. “Given that this information is new, she may need to process it.”

“And you too, Exec?” Locke asked with a smirk.

Hayne swallowed, and then nodded. “A little, yes.”

“I understand.” The sympathy was back on Locke’s face like it had never left. “I was hesitant at first. It’s an unknown.” His smile became wider and more confident. “But unknowns are the foundation of Empire, Commander. If you ever want to command the best ships in the Empire, you’ll want to remember that.”

Hayne nodded, accepting his point.

“Quince,” Locke added, turning to the helm officer. “You’ll be going with Hayne to this little get-together.”

“Will I, sir?” Quince asked, turning and grinning cheekily at him.

“You’ve been on the ship longer than the XO or the Corp Leader,” Locke said bluntly. “If anyone can help assuage concerns, you can.”

Privately, Hayne doubted Quince would be able to reassure her way out of a paper bag, but the Captain might have had a point.

“Alright, Cap’,” Quince said, still grinning. “Happy to help.”

She returned to her console, and Locke gave Hayne another smirk, before returning to his office. Hayne let out a breath.

 _Command,_ she thought. _Why did I ever_ want _command?_

***

**Glossary**

Shunt Drive: A kind of interstellar drive that “shunts” a ship at FTL velocities with no time-dilation. Requires numerous recalculations in-flight.

“Sphincter” Drive: An alternative FTL travel system involving the generation of temporary wormholes - the power cost is usually prohibitive on anything larger than a freighter.

  
  



End file.
